If You Only Knew

Chapter 8

The week rushes by, a kaleidoscope of hurried mornings, whispered jokes in hallways, and fleeting moments of laughter between Louis and me. By Friday, the air feels electric, charged with the promise of something intangible yet undeniable. Time drags as the school day crawls to an end, but when it finally does, we find ourselves in the sanctuary of Louis' room.

His room is a portrait of him—soft fairy lights strung across the walls, posters of bands we both love tacked haphazardly above the bed, and the faint smell of lavender lingering in the air. It's a space that feels lived in, safe, and entirely Louis.

I sit cross-legged on his bed, tugging absently at the sleeve of my jacket, feeling the weight of his expectant gaze. "Lou... do we really have to go to this party tonight?" I mumble, my voice low with reluctance. "You said you don't even like El anymore."

Louis turns to me, his eyes sparkling with mischief, lips curling into a playful grin. "I don't," he says, dragging out the words with mock solemnity. "But the party's going to be fun, Haz. Please come... for meeee?" He elongates the last word, his tone syrupy sweet, a teasing lilt that only he can pull off.

I roll my eyes, trying to maintain my disinterest, but the corners of my lips betray me with the faintest hint of a smile. It's impossible to resist him when he looks at me like that—his face a perfect blend of innocence and mischief, a boyish charm that makes every refusal crumble.

"Fine," I sigh, crossing my arms in mock defiance. "I'll go for you. But!" I jab a finger in his direction, my tone turning firm. "You have to promise you won't leave my side. I'm not about to let you get lost in a crowd of drunk strangers."

Louis's face lights up like a child on Christmas morning. He lunges forward, wrapping me in a bear hug so tight I can barely breathe. His chest is warm against mine, and the faint scent of his shampoo—a mix of lavender and citrus—fills my senses.

"Thank you, Hazza!" he exclaims, his voice brimming with excitement. "I promise, I'll stick to you like glue. Never ever ever!" His sincerity is so palpable it feels almost tangible, like the weight of his words could anchor me to the ground.

I chuckle, the sound soft but genuine, and let myself relax. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"And yet, here you are," he quips, a cheeky grin plastered across his face.

We spend the next half hour rummaging through our closets, debating costume ideas with a mixture of enthusiasm and exasperation. I settle on my old Scooby-Doo costume, the fabric faded but comforting, a relic of simpler times. The soft polyester hugs my frame as I pull it on, and despite the ridiculousness of it, I can't help but smile.

Louis, ever the dramatic one, goes all out. He emerges from his closet wearing a full Harry Potter ensemble, complete with a Gryffindor robe, round glasses, and a lightning bolt drawn hastily on his forehead. He twirls theatrically, the robe billowing around him.

"Perfect," I tease, raising an eyebrow. "You look like you're ready to duel Voldemort."

He sticks his tongue out at me, but there's a glimmer of pride in his eyes as he adjusts the glasses perched on his nose.

Before we can make our grand exit, his mom, Jay, appears at the foot of the stairs with a camera in hand. Her smile is as warm as the glow of the fairy lights in Louis's room.

"Oh, you boys look adorable," she coos, her voice tinged with teasing affection.

"Mum!" Louis groans, dragging out the word as his cheeks flush a faint pink. "You're embarrassing me!"

"But it's true," she says, stepping closer. "And I need a picture to prove it." She waves the camera at us, her grin widening.

Louis grumbles under his breath but doesn't resist as she positions us side by side. His arm loops around my shoulder as the camera clicks, capturing the moment forever.